Author's note: This is dedicated to yet another internet friend who could have my babies any day (preferably like ten or twelve of them... ) Anyways, please read&review. Perhaps give ideas or input for future parts of this story, as this is a work in progress.
Disclaimer: George R. R. Martin made me do it.
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Tyrion Lannister climbed down the stairs to the Hand's tower in a rush. They were steep and he had a lot on his mind, his short legs soon made the climb unbearable. He thought back to the discussion he'd had with his charming lord father: a man who firmly believed smiling was simply wasting time.
"I want what is mine by right. Cersei is Cersei and queen, but she is still a woman. Jaime is your eldest son, but the day he put on the white cloak he gave up his claim to Casterly Rock. I am your son and lawful heir." Tyrion had declared to lord Tywin, trying to remain calm when Tywin's steely green eyes met his own with disgust.
The idea had been growing in his head for some time; he wanted Casterly Rock, the castle where he grew up. He could find refugee there, from men like the spider and slinky Littlefinger, he could hide from those who wanted him dead – his sweet sister and half the lords at court, just to mention a few – and he could protect his wife from the vicious bastard-boy of a king who had made it his top priority to torment them both.
He'd move to Casterly Rock for Sansa's sake, he tried to convince himself. But Tywin Lannister had been harder to convince.
"You are an ill-made, spiteful little creature full of envy, lust, and low cunning. Men's laws give you the right to bear my name and display my colours since I cannot prove that you are not mine. And to teach me humility, the gods have condemned me to watch you waddle about wearing that proud lion that was my father's sigil and his father's before him. But neither gods nor men will ever compel me to let you turn Casterly Rock into your whorehouse. Go, now. Speak no more of your rights to Casterly Rock. Go!"
His father's words had hit him like arrows through the flesh. But they also ignited a spark of rage, that, by the time he had made his way out of his father's chambers and down the steep stairs, had grown into wildfire.
I want what is mine, Tyrion thought as he ordered the maids to pack his wife's and his own belongings.
And I shall have it.